Despair of the Dark
by Zethos
Summary: What really lies under the snow?


**Author's note: **This is just some crazy rambling of mine, written so I could express some things I've been bottling up today. I hope you like it.

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As Christmas neared, a festive excitement seemed to creep into the village of El Nath. The toy shopkeeper began putting out radiant, almost angelic, lights, delighting the little children. The children crowded around him, screaming and shouting excitedly, before running back home as the aroma of baking cookies wafted through the cold air. They exclaimed to their parents fervently about their new toys, and shrieking as they received _yet_ another gift from their parents. Ensconced in the dream-like warmth in their homes, the bitter cold was almost alien to them.

The foxes sensed the winter too. They began growing shiny, beautiful coats that protected them from the grasp of despairing winds, digging their dens deeper into the grounds where warmth shielded them from the merciless hailstorms. Once in a while, they would run out with their mate to hunt for food, keeping each other warm. Death could not approach them.

The leaf knew it too. He prepared himself, stoning his bright, green color into a bleak grey. It was time to say farewell to all the others – in winter, precious water was hoarded. Stashed away deep in the unrelenting hands of Death. Only if he, one single, insignificant leaf, perished would Death acquiesce and return the water that kept their family going, their mother tree growing onwards. He felt another gush of wind roaring by, and slowly, he leapt into the darkness and left his family.

But it was all for naught.

The leaf panicked, trying to struggle against the wind, trying to return to his mother, trying to escape Death's jaws. He walked as his thousand brothers did the exact same thing in the air; they had not bothered to sit together and discuss the matter. The leaf lurched in the air, feeling his strength diminish, his sight failing. Slowly, he fell through the air, rocking, and thudded on the cradle of Death alongside his thousand brothers.

A White Knight stumbled through the thick snow, trapped in Death's jaws. His footsteps were rapidly covered. The snow seemed lunge at him at a frenzy, winds pouncing on him savagely like an enraged hurricane. Battered, wounded, he fell to the ground, helpless; Death and Death strangling the words coming from his throat. He fought valiantly, flailing about as snow hurtled themselves at him violently. He could feel Death's apathetic grasp on him grow stronger, sapping his strength. Death was still thirsty.

Then he heard voices. "That was a good catch today!"

He thrashed about with his remaining strength, which was abandoning him like the others did. Help! The blood in his veins seemed to scream, as they rushed about, trying to escape. But Death flung more snow at him, burying him under a curtain. His heart felt cold and exhausted; it was going to ditch him like the others. Sorrow crept into his body, persuading him to stop fighting, to stop resisting, and to accept Death as his master.

"God! I can't wait for dinner! Can you imagine how good this boar will taste?"

Three hunters appeared, wearing thick cloaks that clung to their skin like bodyguards, that reined warmth in like a guardian, that chased away sorrow like a mother. They passed through Death's trap, unknowing, ungrateful.

There was a crunch, slightly louder than the others, but still hardly audible. Suddenly one of the hunters screamed, his voice tantalizingly close. "I think I see something! In the snow!"

They were so close, but they were yet so far. The other hunters simply waved it away, advising him to leave it, and to go home before the last traces of the Sun disappeared. The hunter ran forwards, and together, he and his companions returned back to the village, bragging about their kills to a crowd of admirers.

Yet, as the mayor walked the streets and gave rice to beggars, nobody had noticed that a man had disappeared. When they were giving out Christmas presents, they had forgotten that a name was missing from the list. When they were celebrating New Year, a shack stood at the roadside, unnoticed and unwanted. When the government was reclaiming the land, they overlooked a single name as they compensated the villagers.

Despair, Death's right-hand man, had done his job well.


End file.
